


Wicked

by Choke-a-Bro (Vanya_Deyja)



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: AU, M/M, Multi, Pre-Slash, Vignette, Wizard of Oz AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-09 11:40:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21899638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vanya_Deyja/pseuds/Choke-a-Bro
Summary: Prompto is a humble farmer, a munchkin from down south, but he's convinced if he can just get in the same room as the wild, wicked, Witch of the West he can convince the Witch to help him and his people.
Relationships: Gladiolus Amicitia/Ignis Scientia, Gladiolus Amicitia/Noctis Lucis Caelum, Noctis Lucis Caelum/Ignis Scientia, Prompto Argentum/Noctis Lucis Caelum
Comments: 2
Kudos: 60





	Wicked

**Author's Note:**

> I seriously was obsessed with the Wizard of Oz and all related media for years. This was inevitable.

Witches are strange creatures. There have never been many but most went into hiding when the Wizard founded the Emerald City. That said there are places in Oz where even the Wizard’s power doesn’t extend. The wilds of the West are still too vast and savage for any but a witch to conquer.

The Witches of the West have never been much interested in conquest. They’re hermits, curmudgeons, who mainly want to be left alone to perfect their strange alchemy. There is something happening though; a kind of mutual parasitism. The witches love the West, they want it to remain free, so they protect its people and its treasures from the Wizard's forces. Meanwhile the people of the West love them with equal fervour. For many generations the clever, hardworking, Winkie kings of the West have kept witches in their western most castles and fortresses. 

Prompto’s just a simple munchkin from down South. He’s not terribly impressive or powerful but he’s seen firsthand the desolation and savagery the Wizard’s tin men can carry out.

He walked, through the winter, from his home in the farmlands to the western most castle of the wilds where Winkie kings and witches live. He has a dream. He has hope.

The current King is a practical man. He knows his people are resourceful and ingenious but poor and isolated. And while they never seem to have enough food for the winter, what with how crops take in the stony earth, he works with what he’s got. So when Prompto shows up at his front door with a knapsack and a dream the King, unstoppable Ignis Scientia, let’s Prompto stay on the condition he work.

Prompto spends weeks scrubbing kitchen pots and wrestling the boiler in the vast catacombs under the palace before he even lays eyes on the current Witch of the West.

The Witch spends his time in his tower, almost uninterrupted, but when there’s an explosion one fateful day the Captain of the Guard requests Prompto assist him in clearing up the rubble and getting the Witch unstuck from under debris.

The Captain of the Guard is from a very old house in the West. He’s a Winkle, meaning; he has wings. The big chocolatey feathers quite intimidated Prompto his first day in the castle but Gladiolus is reasonable and patient if a little stern.

“What did you do now, you little green toad?” Gladiolus demands as they force their way into the ruined tower.

“Don’t just stand there! You fat flying monkey!” The Witch shrieks from where he’s corralled by falling bits of roof. “Help me!”

“I thought you could shapeshift, Witch? Why don’t you just change into a mouse and scamper out yourself?” Gladiolus teases.

The Witch shrieks expletives at him in at least six languages. Some of them Prompto doesn’t even recognise.

“Alright! Alright!” Gladiolus bemoans grabbing a beam. “Munchkin, get the other end, we’re going to force it this way.” He instructs Prompto curtly, cocking his head in the direction he wants the beam tugged.

Prompto isn’t exceptionally strong but he’s willing to do anything to meet the Witch.

They heave on Gladiolus’ command and it takes everything Prompto has but the beam shifts just so. Gladiolus holds it in place, maintaining the perilous gap in the wreckage he’s forced, and hollers at the Witch.

The Witch doesn’t need to be told twice and darts out of the damage onto the unbroken tiles and rugs. Then, surrendering, Gladiolus lets go and they watch the wreckage collapse with a heavy calamitous _crash_ of stone, wood and steel.

Gladiolus swears, flexing his wings, and rues; “this is gonna be a bitch to clean up. We’re gonna have to redo the roof.”

“Well you better do it quickly,” the Witch huffs.

Prompto plucks up the courage to steal a glance. The Witch is sort of what he expected but nothing quite prepares you for facing a real witch. The black robes are one thing but the viridian green skin? Honestly though that horrifying oddity is the only thing that bars the Witch from being exceptionally beautiful. His features are well constructed, he’s slim and elegant, sturdier than a munchkin but in a longer more waifish way. It’s just that mortifying greenness that persists to assert something is awfully wrong.

“We’re in the middle of the harvest.” Gladiolus snaps to the Witch. “I might be able to get a few Winkies and Winkles to help move you into the other tower but we can’t even start on this mess until the harvest is over.”

“And how long will that take?” The Witch demands.

“Weeks, at least.” Gladiolus answers, unafraid.

“You ugly monkey!” The Witch hisses. “I can’t possibly—”

“You’re the one who blew the roof off!” Gladiolus booms back in a voice that would make tin men cower.

_“Don’t you yell at me!_” The Witch snaps back with such ferocity it’s downright superhuman. Prompto lurches back as the air starts to fizzle, stumbling on his own feet, and Gladiolus’ wings go taunt.

“I can move you into the other tower, if you give me a few hours,” Gladiolus placates ever so slightly. “But I can’t grow the roof back today.”

The Witch sags, unscrunching his nose, and folds his arms. “Alright,” he concedes. “Just don’t break anything else.”

“_I didn’t_—!” Gladiolus groans, catching his tongue and curtailing his temper as best he can. “Munchkin, go tell his Majesty we need some Winkles up here, alright? And you, Witch, get out of my hair.”

The Witch huffs and turns tail off down the stairs.

Prompto scampers after him, nodding frantically.

Prompto has to talk to the Witch. He needs to ask but as they move down the stairs Prompto’s so terrified he can’t find the words let alone make them come out of his mouth. He keeps trying, jaw moving stupidly behind the Witch’s back, all the way into the cramped little throne room practical Ignis has converted to an office.

“That fat monkey wants help moving my things,” the Witch announces. “I have to move to the other tower.”

Ignis sighs, pushing his glasses up his nose.

“Alright Noctis,” he assures gently. “We can do that.”

Prompto flushes, startled. Is that the Witch’s name? Do witches typically have names? He just thought they had titles, like great features of the land; the Witch of the West, the Wicked Witch, the Witch of the Ruby Palace, etc. 

“What were you even doing?” Ignis tries to ascertain.

“Things,” the Witch declares, hands on hips.

“Do your _things_ have to be quite so explosive?” Ignis appeals patiently.

“You and that fat monkey are always interrogating me!” The Witch pouts. “I should just go live in the mountains!”

“It rains in the mountains.” Ignis grumbles, exhausted but obviously used to this. “No, darling, you need to stay here if you can stand it.”

“I’m starting to think I can’t!” The Witch insists.

“You look roughed up,” Ignis diverts with some practice. “Why don’t you have a bath? Get that grime off?”

“You’re trying to manipulate me,” the Witch rumbles, but lower this time.

“Your tower will be all sorted by the time you’re clean,” Ignis promises, “take Prompto. He can attend you. I’ll get the tower sorted.”

The Witch coils his fingers on his hips. “You’re so _wicked_.” He huffs, unwillingly defeated by Ignis’ persistent charm and cunning.

“Indeed,” Ignis snorts. “Prompto do as you’re told, yes? Go to my chambers. You can use the bath there.”

* * *

The King’s chambers are decidedly humble this far West but they’re cozy and clean. They also have quite a few creature comforts Prompto is not privy to sleeping in the stables in-between the horses and hay. Prompto fumbles under the Witch’s commands but with the help of a more seasoned maid from the kitchens he succeeds in filling the bath and placing hot coals in the trap under the brass bathtub.

The Witch has a line of strange, delicious, smelling ointments assembled and stripping down in full sight of Prompto sinks into the bath.

Prompto’s heard stories but he didn’t think witches really melted. He’s starting to believe it now though. Why else would the witch bathe in tepid milk? It’s quite a strange thing but the maid seemed used to such oddness.

Prompto turns around, trying to afford the Witch some degree of privacy, but people are much less concerned with such things in this part of Oz. The Witch sinks down, soaking, and audibly untangles a fraction.

“Uh—Uh Sir?” Prompto asks, at last plucking up his courage.

“_What?_” The Witch snaps like a fox might turn on a hen.

“Are you very powerful, Sir?” Prompto continues.

“What kind of silly question is that?” The Witch snorts. “Do you think witches sit around comparing spells, munchkin?”

“I-I don’t know, Sir. I guess not.” Prompto backtracks. “But I just—Do you think you could stop the Wizard?"

“The Wizard?” The Witch repeats. “How should I know? I’ve never met the Wizard.”

“He’s very bad, Sir.” Prompto explains. “He enslaved my people. Everyone works themselves to the bone and everyone spies on their neighbour and—”

“We never even had wizards before he showed up…” the Witch rues, shifting audibly in the milk. “What do you care? You’re here now. The Wizard’s not coming all the way out here.”

“But, Sir, what if he does?” Prompto continues to push, scrambling to try and make his point however awkwardly.

“If the Wizard wants the West he’ll have to come out here himself.” The Witch snorts.

“But, Sir, so much of Oz is suffering and—”

“Munchkin,” the Witch grunts, “get that vial.”

Prompto jerks, twisting around to follow the Witch’s finger. In a daze, head spinning, he crosses the rug to grab the thick glass bottle and passes it to the Witch cautiously. The Witch uncaps the bottle with his teeth and starts lathering his green skin with the sweet smelling potion.

“What?” The Witch demands as Prompto stares.

“A-aren’t witches supposed to help people?” Prompto blurts in dumb fluster. He’s just so frustrated. This isn’t how he pictured it in his head.

The Witch hikes up one perfect eyebrow and Prompto is terrified for a split second he’s going to be cursed but he doesn’t back down. Pressing his lips together, trembling all the while, Prompto holds his ground.

“What makes you think that?” The Witch supposes. “Witches are just like any other creature. Some of us are good and some of us aren’t.”

“But you have magic.” Prompto mumbles weakly. “W-with a gift like that it should be your d-duty to help other people.”

The Witch blinks at him, perplexed.

“Get me that bottle.” The Witch points.

Prompto fetches it, presenting it with a little more certainty.

“I protect my home.” The Witch asserts, taking the bottle and running the jellied substance through his hair. “Why should I protect people I’ve never even met? In the South? In the Emerald City?”

“Wouldn’t it be good if Ignis had more food to feed his people?” Prompto tries. “Wouldn’t you be able to do more magic if you have more space? Or if you didn’t have to fight the Wizard’s forces all the time?”

The Witch frowns, thinking it over. “I suppose….” He permits. “So what? I should reclaim Oz?”

“Lots of people would be very grateful,” Prompto nods keenly. “You could help them and you could help your own people have a better life too.”

“Well, if this Wizard is so bad, who’s to say I want to risk my life like that?” The Witch lifts his chin up stubbornly.

“He…” Prompto tries to think quickly, swallowing; “well he’s just a wizard. What’s a wizard really? You’re a witch. I’m sure if you tried you wouldn’t have any real trouble, right…?”

The Witch narrows his eyes. “You’re manipulating me,” he smirks strangely.

“I-I…” Prompto fumbles, terribly frightened. “A little, Sir.”

“Hmm…” The Witch chews over him with his sharp eyes. “You’re going to live with me in my tower, munchkin.”

“W-what?” Prompto lurches.

“You can tell me all about the Wizard.” The Witch announces, sinking back under the surface of the milk.

Maybe this is a good thing, Prompto rues?

“What did you say your name was?” The Witch asks, rising back up, wiping his face.

“Prompto, Sir.”

“You’re a silly creature, Prompto.” The Witch snorts. “I like it.”

“Um th-thank--?”

“Get out,” the Witch dismisses. “I want to be alone.”

“Yes Sir.” Prompto scrambles.

* * *

Prompto thinks the Witch has all but forgotten about him at first but then, a few hours later, he’s called up to the Witch’s new tower. King Ignis is there, drinking little cups of hot chocolate with the Witch, and offers one to Prompto declaring;

“Noctis says I’m to surrender you.”

“Yes, Majesty?” Prompto takes the cup stupidly.

“Are you compliant with this, Prompto?” Ignis wonders.

“Yes, Majesty.” Prompto asserts with a bashful strength.

“Well,” Ignis snorts, “I’ve never been one to tell Noctis no. Seems he’s yours to manage as you see fit, old friend.” He supposes, glancing to the Witch.

“Hmm, yes, good.” The Witch rumbles, coiled in an ancient armchair under a fur pelt all tangled and snugly with his hot chocolate.

Prompto isn’t sure what this means for him or his dream but sleeping on the floor by the Witch’s fire is much more comfortable than sleeping in the stables between the horses and hay. It’s warmer and drier up here.

The following day the Witch wakes very late, which turns out to be a habit, and spends much of the afternoon ordering Prompto to hold things or stir things or otherwise assist in little ways. Prompto spends a lot of time sitting still, trying not to irritate the Witch, and waiting.

Eventually, as the sun sets, the Witch hands him a thickly folded piece of paper.

“Sir?” Prompto blinks.

“Go lean out the window and give that to a crow.” The Witch orders.

“What’s it for, Sir?” Prompto asks.

“Lunafreya, the Good Witch, is in hiding out East. That’s for her.”

“D-Did…?” Prompto swallows.

“What?” The Witch snaps impatiently.

“Did you ask her to help fight the Wizard, Sir?” Prompto tries to hold his nerve long enough to ask.

“I did.” The Witch huffs. “Now go find a crow.”

“Y-Yes Sir!” Prompto scramble, smile creeping across his face.

“Munchkin!” The Witch calls. “I will know if you read my latter! And if you read it I _will_ change my mind!” 

“Yes! Of course, Sir!” Prompto promises.

Things are looking up.


End file.
